


RIP, Turtleneck!

by Glendaa



Series: The HFA Conundrum [2]
Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Boys In Love, M/M, More Fluff, better to love than die, less angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glendaa/pseuds/Glendaa
Summary: Armie remembers everything about a certain sparkly t-shirt and its gorgeous owner





	RIP, Turtleneck!

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to This time it’s not buttons, but works as a standalone fic as well. I thought my little fic would be a one shot, but… things keep happening and  
> I. Just. Can’t.
> 
> Guys, I’m so flattered by your kind comments. Thanks a lot!  
> PS This is for you Carla Dunn - You made me do it! I owe you!  
> Love to you and the whole CMBYN obsessed "I wanted you to know... Fanfic discussion and admiration group" on FB – we are family!

 

_“Hope” is the thing with feathers_

_That perches in the soul_

_And sings the tune without the words_

_And never stops - at all_

_\- Emily Dickinson_

 

 

Of course everybody would go batshit crazy about Tim’s sparkly shirt!

When rumors came out that it had no back, the fans ran screaming to the web searching for a full photo of it - checking Louis Vuitton’s Spring 2019 catwalk videos, stalking the gossip websites - wondering if somewhere, anywhere existed a shot of Tim without his black jacket on, creamy skin glowing under the party lights.

“You wish, fuckers!”, I scream, scrolling at my phone. Nobody is listening to me rant, but I still feel slightly guilty. I know I should be kinder to the fans - but not today, not while I’m still glowing in the aftermath of our lovemaking. Maybe later!

For now he’s still mine, his mop of dark curls ghosting my chest, the warmth of his body lingering on the sheets.

I sigh.

 _I want him for me alone._ I am a selfish son-of-a-bitch, I reckon.

But then I’m the only one who knows how he shivered under my touch when I took his jacket off. How he looked with the damn thing on. How he bit his lip when I traced the skin just above the black ties.

______

I stroke my cock idly, morning erection going strong, no need to revisit yesterday to make me hornier, but I can’t avoid it…

 _I remember everything._ And it was perfection.

I slammed him against the door as soon as we entered the room, failing to contain my excitement.

“Eager much, old man?”, Tim had snorted.

“Better behave, boy or else I’ll show you”.

“No”, he answered drily.

“What?”

“I. Said. No”.

My head went blank. Had I been too rough? Had I mistaken his intentions? What the hell was going on?

His gaze was inscrutable, lips quivering until he finally collapsed in giggles.

“Gosh Arms, your expression is so…”, he was guffawing now, first pointing his finger at me, then dabbing at his eyes.

“What?”, I croaked.

“Sorry, sorry man. That was mean of me but… I won’t fuck you in THAT!” He was openly crying by now, his lively laugh making me weak in the knees.

“Tim, I…What the hell are you talking about?”

“Lose that hideous turtleneck NOW, if you truly want a piece of my ass tonight”, he smirked. “I’m damn serious”.

“What the fuck dude? You scared me here”.

“Dude? Really?”, he was laughing again. “Listen to me because I won’t say it again, ok? You look like a retired porn actor in his mansion. You are only missing a glass full of brandy and a shaggy bear fur in front of the chimney. If you think I’ll blow you dressed like that… well you are sorely mistaken. I’ve got my dignity, you know”.

The little shit has rendered me speechless. I want to simultaneously laugh and cry in outrage, spank him till he’s so sore he won’t be able to sit for days straight and tickle him until he’s a blabbering mess begging me to stop. So I do the only sensible thing - I get naked in 3 minutes flats and I kiss him silly.

Later, when I’m inside him - his back to my chest, hand stroking his throat, mouth to ear, murmuring encouraging words that make him whimper - my lingering sadness is still present. I need to see his love for me reflected in his clear eyes. I need to kiss his lips, to breathe what he’s breathing. I turn him quickly, never leaving his body. My back falling on the mattress, he now riding my cock.

Again he sees right through me, again he’s the only one to know what I need in order to forget my angst.

He slithers inside his shirt - _that I now know it’s apparently called a bib shirt, and I don’t get it at all, a bib is something Ford wears and this is no bib at all, sheesh, this is a goddamn shibari-like thingy so from now on I’ll be calling it the ‘fuck-me-now shirt’, hell yes_ – and now the ties are on the front, Wicked Witch on the back, looking at the door, scaring away worst monsters, I hope.

He looks at me.

Bites his lip.

Rolls his hips.

Moans.

“You like this shirt? Even now? Stretched on my chest, ties grazing my nipples?”, he mewls.

I do my best not to come instantly. I lose myself in his heat and release the sorrow that was contracting my throat.  
“You’ll be the death of me, boy”.

“No, I’ll be the life of you”, he retorts.

I sigh.

He’s right.

I kiss him. At last, all is good.

_______________

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Posting a photo of this tree on IG”.

He’s focused, tongue slipping out of his pink lips as always when he’s concentrating on something.

 _I’d kiss you if I could._ Gosh, I’m such a clichè.

“Cool, uh? All these leaves falling… kinda lika that Japan thing with the cherry flowers, right?”

I turn to see what he’s talking about and I suck my breath in. Nature’s cunning ways for sure!

All I can see is him, naked on the dark ground, a light rain of red leaves cascading on his pale skin, glistening lips open in an invitation… A nymph of the woods, _ok,_ _this is Boston but who cares_. We are together and I’m ready to kneel and worship this young god when…

“Ok, done. Hope they like it.”

“What? Who?”. I cannot keep up with everything he’s up to.

“The people at this Charmie page. They asked for a sign if we were together, a post of a tree. Here it is.”

I laugh. “Do you think they will believe it?”

“Hey, Boston is near New York! They already know you are going to be in NY for the On the basis of sex screening and Q&A, so…”

“Mean Timmy, making all these poor boys and girls believe that there’s something going on between us…”

He smiles. “Hiding in plain sight, right?”

I smile back at him.

I feel lighter than I’ve been in ages. Don’t care if it’s a girl thing – cutting my hair has been my way to express it, I guess. I mean, I feel happier. I know it’s his presence, a few days close will do that to me.

“Wanna grab a bite? I’m staaaarving!”, he pouts. “And didn’t you tell your fans that you craved fried chicken?”

“I was thinking of your chicken thighs, silly boy”.

“Asshole.” He shoves at me. “It’s not like my fave haunt in NY, but I know a place nearby…”

_______________________

Mmm, delicious!

I suck the ketchup from my fingers and grab some more fries.

I love filthy food. And old-school diners as well. Here we are just two boys, baseball caps on, having brunch.

Oh, and the fried chicken is great. Leave it to Timmy to find the best place in Boston for this. Succulent meat in a crisp, spicy coating - so crunchy and juicy…

I’m in heaven.

He smiles indulgently at me. “You are like that kid in The chocolate factory. Sure you want to keep up eating?”

“Nadbwdfwlwag”, I say, mouth full and a grin splitting my face. I wish this would last forever.

I look around for a napkin and Tim passes me one. It’s white and big and soft. Didn’t know in greasy spoons like these they had such luxurious cloths. Boston is truly the European capital of the US. It’s perfect and I dab at my mouth when something catches my eye. It’s a tiny red embroidery on one side…

“Tim?”, I sigh.

“Yeesss?”, he answers.

“What is this?”, I ask.

“A napkin”.

“No, it isn’t. Try again.”

He rolls his eyes. “An eco-friendly, planet-saving, DIY creative way to help something hideous find its true purpose on Earth?”

“That turtleneck was Calvin Klein! You knew that, right?”. I want to strangle him.

“Yes. Do you know that their homewares are great? My mom says that the bedding collection for Macy’s is da bomb”.

“Nicole says that?”

“Yup”.

“Just shut up, Lil' Timmy Tim. And pass me the fries”.


End file.
